


The Basement

by tinyblub



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Abstract, Multi, Plot, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5784946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyblub/pseuds/tinyblub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best thing about Heaven’s Arena is what’s underneath it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ~These events take place before the main storyline.

     When people think of Heaven’s Arena, they don’t tend to think about its basement. Why would they, when the floors above are a spectacle of blood, guts, and glory? Every level closer to the sky means a tougher opponent, and of course, a bigger payout. But the money always trickles down in the end.

     The men of Heaven’s Arena are simple-minded, I’ve come to appreciate. Fighters who just want to pound things to bits; status-seekers who can’t wait to be flocked around; compulsive gamblers; little shrimp with big dreams. The beauty of the basement is that it attracts the winners and the losers.

     When the sun has long set, and the elevator girl has already clocked out for the night, they stumble out of their rooms with attitudes ranging from “why the fuck not” to “I need a goddamn drink” to “time to par-tay!” and they push the round B button and slowly descend, fingers tapping the wall impatiently.

     Drunken warriors and giggling post-midnight stragglers push open the big glass entrance doors of Heavens Arena, shielding their eyes from the harsh florescent lights and bee-lining to the guest elevator, where at this hour, the only available direction is down.

     With a ding the doors open into a comfortable darkness and muffled sound of music. It’s a small room, with a low ceiling and a scowling bouncer leaning next to an archway. “You’re going to have to leave your greatsword out here,” he growls, pointing to a rack of mismatched weaponry. A long line and quick exchange of money later and they’re through, turning a corner into the main hall.

     The music is now booming, deep and repetitive; strobe lights making the dancing crowd appear to move in slow motion, a snapshot every second. The ceiling is five stories high, huge steel beams running vertically to support the gargantuan building above it. Split level, with VIP balconies overlooking the main floor, where five round stages with rings of club chairs are raised above the masses. At the center of each stage is a pole, rising all the way up, past the balconies, into the blackness that is the ceiling high above. Five girls dance around the poles in various stages of undress. They spin in time with the music, walking sultrily in circles in their 7-inch heels, posing for tippers, running a finger up the inside of their thigh. Hair whipping faster as the pace increases, the people’s arms below rising in the air as they dance harder, feeling the music.

     My heel is tapping as I sit legs crossed at the bar, sipping a cocktail and surveying the people sitting around me for a potential target. The aura in this place is distracting and easy to get sucked into. Normally aura just comes off people uncontrolled, but in the pit it is somehow synchronized, the dancers responding as one to the music.

     I watch as Mio Yatsumi (200th floor) walks the length of the balcony above, his eyes settling on a dancer he fancies. She is totally lost in the feeling, I know, because I’ve been in her place. Eyes closed, she isn’t even trying for tips anymore, just spinning, not able to stop, breathing fast at the feeling of euphoria at being one with the group aura. He watches her for a while, and then raises his arm over the railing directly above her stage, slowly letting one million jenny flutter through the air in a huge glittering cloud to the platform below. The crowd screams and jumps up and down.

     I inhale sharply as the group aura shatters. Money tends to do that to people. Mio smiles broadly as the naked dancer below blows him a kiss, a sly look on her face as falling jenny frame her body.

     ‘From the top of the tower all the way to the very bottom …’ I giggle to myself darkly, watching the final bills land. That was probably his entire earnings for the day.

     Groups of eccentrically dressed people crisscross between the bar and the dance floor. But it’s not the groups I’m interested in. A lone man with a huge purple afro is yelling at the guard in front of the metal stairway to VIP.  I stretch my legs out, pulling up my grey wool thigh-high socks and checking the straps of my white platform heels. I adjust my bikini to perfectly show off my cleavage. First impressions are very important in this industry. I take long steps closer.

     “It’s level 200 and up only, I won’t say it again.” The bouncer’s face is blank.

     Afro guy lets out a loud sound of exasperation, and swivels around. “Whoa..” he says, his beer sloshing over as he gives me a once-over.

     “Hey… sorry about that… the rules here are kinda bull, huh?” I shape my face to look empathetic.

     “Yea, what could possibly be the difference between floor 190 and floor 200 anyway?”

     “There’s no difference, they’re just numbers. It’s stupid, I know.”

     Actually there was a huge difference. The customers in VIP were different, strange. It was one of the first things I had noticed when I had started working at the club; covertly watching them go up and down the stairs. Their auras were tight and constrained, and their movements more deliberate. This poof-ball wouldn’t stand a second in the ring with one of them. The girls up there were special somehow as well. They were constantly being whispered about in the dressing room. All of us main-floor girls knew their names, but of course nothing about them.

     The music deepens and I feel the pit begin sway again. I’m warm from the alcohol.

     “So…”, I grin slowly, “you wanna find a place to sit down?” I cock my head to the side, my eyes promising all sorts of things that I will of course never return on.

     “Uh, yea, let’s go.” He’s smiling in anticipation already.

     I lead him by the hand to the back, where other girls are cuddling and grinding on their chosen prey. My favorite booth is walled on two sides, a sort of unnecessary precaution when it is almost pitch black.

     I crawl on top of him, using my knees to force his legs farther apart. One hand in his hair, the other one reaching behind me to untie my top as I slowly gyrate. I look into his eyes and lick my lips. Mine.

     “Ugh, you’re so hot,” he groans as he leans back further. The music builds and I feel myself being consumed. I grab a fistful of curly hair and pull his head back, licking from the hollow of his throat to right under his ear.

     “Fuck…” his eyes are closed.

     “Do you like that?” I whisper, giggling.

     My other hand makes lazy circles up his chest. He keeps sliding further down in his seat, his hands on my thighs as I dance above him, grazing him ever so slightly. I close my eyes as I breathe in his smell, my eyelashes tickling his chin and nose as I bring my face directly in front of his, my hair draped over both our heads. I stare at him intently as my right hand closes around his neck. His hands are now firmly around my waist. I grind harder as I choke him. Our eyes are locked; his needy, mine black. The beat is hypnotizing. I kneel up off him and lean into the choke as I bite my lip.

     The timer light goes red. I blink.

     “That will be ten thousand jenny,” I hold out a hand.

     “Ugh… here… thanks…ugh… thank you.” He laughs nervously and adjusts his pants before disappearing.

     I slowly replace my top wondering if I’ve drunk too much. I rub my eyes. Everything is a bit woozy; the lights are soft in the distance. The pit is going insane. I shove the cash into my purse and resolve to have a big glass of ice water, when something gold glints in my peripheral vision.

     There is a tall man sitting straight backed in a chair against the wall, completely covered in shadows except for the occasional light reflecting off the rows of pins down his chest.

     “Were you… were you watching that?” I ask incredulously, surprised at not seeing him earlier.

     “Hm?” His hair is long and black and his eyes are somehow gigantic and emotionless. I can tell immediately that he has a lot of money from the make of his shoes.

     “Were you watching me dance?”

     “Yes.” He blinks slowly and I realize he is one of them. I hadn’t noticed him earlier because his aura was so tightly controlled it was as if it wasn’t there at all.

     “People don’t usually sit here,” I say cautiously. “I can show you to VIP if you would like.”

     “No thank you. Why do you assume that that is where I should be?”

     “Well, uh, you are like the other ones that go up there. Or, maybe I should say you feel like it.”

     Silence.

     “This job has honed my ability to read people,” I continue, “It’s a survival thing.”

     “And how long have you worked here?” he asks, rolling a pin between his fingers.

     “A little over a year.”

     He takes a moment to processes, watching the pin glittering in his hand.

     “May I ask you some questions?” he says, finally looking up.

     “Mm, sure,” I say with a smile, realizing he wants information. “But nothing is free in a strip club.”

     I’m starting to see how truly creepy his eyes are now that they are pointed straight at me. There was something missing from them; that glint of life hinting at the real feeling person underneath.

     He sighs. I shake myself out of my thoughts.

     “Yes, I understand that all services require a fee. My area of profession is quite like yours in that sense.”

     “And what area is that?”

     “Assassination.”

     “Uh… oh. Well…” He isn’t joking around. “That must be an interesting line of work...” I hear my voice getting quieter. My breathing is slowing as I stand there frozen, trapped in the grip of his huge dead eyes.

     “It’s neither interesting nor uninteresting, just a series of tasks to be completed.”

     I try to take a step back, but it’s as if both my limbs and the outside world are in slow motion.

     “Come here.” He beckons with one finger, hand still holding the pin.

     I open my mouth to say no, but my feet are already walking towards him. An overwhelming feeling is washing over me in waves, a feeling that I must do exactly as he says. My mind is blank. I’m sitting on his lap as he brushes my hair to the side, nonchalantly humming something. The metal pins on his coat are cold against my arm. My eyes are fixed vacantly on the wall ahead; the beat of the club is far away. A voice in my head is screaming to run… but who could that be? I feel a prick at the center of the back of my neck, and my vision tunnels to black.

~

     When I wake up I am kneeling half on the ground.  My arms are draped over someone’s knees, head resting on a thigh. My eyes refocus on grainy chair leather and emerald threads of clothing. I feel very peaceful, and blink slowly a few times. A hand is brushing my hair upward from the nape of my neck.

     “Thank you for the dance,” says a quiet voice, “and of course, the information.”

     I jerk up, horrified as it all comes back.

     “Oh, don’t worry, you very much enjoyed yourself.”

     “Wh...what just happened?” I say, my throat dry as I scramble back; eyes like a wild animal.

     “Well, I couldn’t have you knowing what I needed to know"

     My eyes, crazy, flicker to my purse on the cushion next to him. I need it to escape, though I’m seriously considering leaving without it.

     “You shouldn’t look so offended,” he adds as an afterthought, slowly pulling a pin out of his head as though it’s a normal thing to do. “It would have been much easier for me to just kill you.”

     He looks into the head of the pin as it catches the rainbow lights. His fingernails are claws. I stand up, full of conflicting emotion as I repeatedly try and fail to comprehend the situation. My heart is pounding but my breathing is very slow. My eyes lock with his black ones.

      “…However I enjoyed your dance, so I’ve decided to consider this a business deal.” He gives me a pointed look as he drops a large stack of money into the purse.

     “Throw it here,” I say, shaking. He sits there, and with an increasingly vacant look, resumes twirling the pin in between his fingers.

     “…please.” I add.

     He is silent for a few moments, and then sighs, throwing the purse underhand. I catch it and start backing up.

     “Until next time, Anna” he murmurs, smiling distantly as I meld in with the crowd.

     I spin forwards and half-run, half-walk to the dressing room, trying to not completely lose my composure in public. I slam the bolt of the bathroom stall shut and sit on the toilet. ‘Deep breaths, deep breaths Anna,’ I tell myself. I bite my tongue hard, in an attempt to focus. What the _hell_ was that? I can handle drunken idiots, disrespectful tourists, and judgmental women, but I cannot handle whatever that was.

     I hear the clacking of heels and someone shaking the stall door.

     I dab my eyes with toilet paper. Whoever this stupid bitch is she is going to have to wait. My hand holding the tear-soaked crumple is shaking involuntarily. I clumsily grab my purse to see if I have eye drops, and gasp when I see the stack of money in the light. I thumb through the bills, trembling. They are all one-hundred thousand jenny notes. My mouth falls open as it dawns on me: this must be over ten million jenny.

     The girl is now knocking angrily on the door.

     “Ugh, I really have to pee.” She is practically growling. “Can you hurry up?”

     I quickly zip my purse shut.

     “Okay, Okay!” I yell. The amount of money I was holding right now had shocked some sense back into me.

     “Oh, are you okay?” she asks, when I open the door. She has thick curly fuchsia hair pulled up in a ponytail, and is wearing a short cream colored robe matched with pink leg warmers. I recognize her immediately as a VIP-girl.

     “Uh, yea… just a really weird customer.” I sniffle. “You’re Machi, right?”

     “Yea… hold on a second.” She runs into the stall.

     I look at my face in the mirror, it’s a total mess.

     “You need me to beat someone up?” she yells through the door.

     “Uh…no…” I say, as I re-apply foundation under my eyes. “I don’t think you would be able to, honestly. This guy like hypnotized me or something.”

     The toilet flushes and Machi’s head pokes out, eyes narrowed.

     “Elaborate.”

     I wonder if I should trust her. She was the first VIP-girl I had ever talked to… and maybe if I confided in her, she’d confide something in me. And really, if there was anything I wanted to know more about than the details of what had just happened to me; it was what was transpiring on the VIP-balcony.

     “Well… I was talking to this guy. At first I thought he was just your average strip club creeper, you know. Then he started getting way creepier than normal.”

     “…go on” she says, absently drying her hands with a paper towel.

     “There was some sort of aura coming off him or something. Yea,” I say, waving my foundation pallet, “I know that sounds crazy. But I had to do what he wanted. Then I blacked out… when I woke up I had given him a dance. He couldn’t have drugged me because it was a ten-minute span of time, which is way too fast... I just don’t know…I don’t know what happened.” I feel my eyes starting to tear up again. I growl and pat them aggressively with paper towel.

     “Hmm.” Machi has a thoughtful look on her face. “You got very, very unlucky. The amount of people that are capable of doing something like that are probably fewer than ten in the world.”

     She’s still drying her hands even though they are completely dry.

     “That’s a very difficult thing to master,” she says quietly, “completely controlling another’s actions.”

     “Well, it seems like you understand what happened to me much better than I do.” I’m eager for the inevitable explanation.

     Machi gives me an apologetic half-smile.

     “I’m not allowed to talk about a lot of the things going on in this building. There's a lot that you don’t know, and a lot you are better off not knowing. But…If you ever make it up to VIP, it’ll all become obvious.”

     “So then how do I-“

     “I can’t tell you that.” she interrupts.

     “Seriously…?” I say in disbelief. I’m starting to think these VIP girls really are as stuck up as everyone makes them out to be.

     She throws her paper towel in the trash on her way out.

     “Hm, I’m surprised you can read auras though” she murmurs, almost more to herself. “You might actually make it… Oh.” She stops in the doorway, looking back. “What’s your name?”

     “Anna.”

     “Well, I wouldn’t worry about that guy at least; you’ll most likely never see him again.”

     “Hopefully.” I whisper, as the door swings shut.

~

     ‘God, taking your heels off at the end of a long shift is the absolute best…’, I think, as I slip my feet into my fuzzy slippers and dump the contents of my locker into a duffel bag. It feels good to be short again. A quick glance at my phone shows 4 am.

     The Basement is starting to wind down. The crowd is less dense but substantially more intoxicated. It’s a good time to leave. I push through the people to the entrance, looking just like them now in sweats and a T-shirt; hair pinned up to finally get it out of my face. There’s a long line to get into the elevators; the drunken people at this point too lazy to go up the five flights of stairs to the lobby. I slip the bouncer a bill.

     “Thanks sweetheart.” He is already walking me to the next available one as it chimes.

     I swipe my keycard and the button for level 53 lights up. I push it.

     “Have a good night.” He says, as the doors close, drunken people yelling angrily in the background.

     “Thanks, you too.” I offer.

     I feel the elevator swiftly rise. The higher it gets, and the further I get from the masses, the calmer I begin to feel. “Another night over.” I say to myself, leaning against the metal, exhausted.

     My room is really tiny, as all the tower employee sanctioned rooms are. There’s a crack in one of the walls, but a good-sized window above the bed, which looks out over the shopping district of the city.

     After I’ve taken a hot shower and warmed up a bowl of noodle soup, I sit cross-legged on the floor to lay out the money I’ve made for the night. The neat little piles of hundred-thousand jenny contrast with the surrounding disorder. There are clothes all over the floor, and every flat surface is covered by half-read books and dirty cups.

     “Wow…” I whisper, when I’ve tallied up all the stacks. I’d made almost twelve million jenny in one night, a new record.

     I look out the window. The sun is just starting to rise over the city. I lie down in bed and watch the shadows growing against the far wall. Once again I am swept by feelings of confusion and anger. I grumble and roll over. ‘Nothing happened, nothing happened, Anna’, I repeat as convincingly as I can. ‘And, even if something did’, I think with a snort as I drift off, ‘At least you got well paid for it.’

     I dream of white skin and big black eyes, of whispers and colors and strange feelings. An image flashes of my own brown hair running through pale fingers. My nails are clawing into green. A line is traced down my spine. Eyelashes are fluttering. There’s a cool breath against my ear, “Hm. I guess I can see how people find this enjoyable.”

~

     It’s Friday night, and The Basement is alive.

     “Soooo… you’re like a professional gambler?” I’m spinning back and forth in the barstool. “Is that even a real profession?”

     The chubby man with a gold tooth smiles and takes a sip of his drink. The bass is causing the paper coasters to vibrate and jump off the bar. The waitress pretends not to notice as usual.

     “It is if you’re good at it.” He replies.

     “Oh, yea?” I say, raising my eyebrows. I put on my most charming, sexy smile, and lean over in a confidential way. “So then tell me, who’s your bet for the big Yatsumi-Kastro fight?”

     He chuckles.

     “Any idiot knows exactly how that fight is going to go.” He lights up a cigarette, mumbling through it, “People who are new to the 200th floor always lose.”

     He lets out a cloud of white, which rises and changes color as different lights hit it. I gaze over the bouncing heads towards the pit, where Machi is on center stage performing. She is high up on the pole, spinning in all sorts of precarious positions that look like they need extra support. At a certain point she slows, and then begins to twirl backwards faster and faster, legs almost blurring as she transitions through different movements coming down. How she is controlling her rotation like that, I have no idea.

     My phone buzzes. 1:25am.

     “Oh, hey, it’s my turn to go on stage.” I stick my tongue out at him. “You should throw some of that hard earned money at me, Mr. Gambling Professional.”

     “Maybe,” he grins. “But how do I even get to the stage?” He gestures at the madness in front of us. The five columns are arranged in a pentagram, connected by narrow metal bridges. The back two are the entrance and exit stages, attached to the dressing room. The next two are wider apart, and joined to the bar areas on either side. Center stage was the tip of the pentagram, where Machi was now gathering up all her money, because every three minutes the girls rotated a stage, which was about to happen.

     “Well, you can either walk down into the pit,” I explain, “and then every column has stairs that wrap around it. Or-” I point to the little bridge right next to us where groups of chatting people are coming and going. “You can use that.”

     I wink at him and make my way to the dressing room, winding between muscled arms, hazardly held cocktails, and random trash on the floor. Some guy whistles loudly as I walk by, but my eyes are still on the pit, where like clockwork the girls on all five stages are rotating. I see Machi reach stage four in the distance, and start doing lazy circles around the pole. She’s rolling her eyes as a red-haired man laughs and throws a lot of money.

     A few minutes later and I’m standing in front of the curtains to stage one, rearranging my hair as I wait for the stage manager to give me the all-clear.

     Machi explodes out of the curtains from exit stage, holding a huge pile of cash with both arms. She looks at me with a horrified expression.

     “Anna-“, she starts.

     “Go!!!”  yells the manager.

     I look at her, confused, as I walk out into deafening roar.

~

     Bright lights are flashing across my face as I grasp the flimsy handrails of the grated metal walkway. This was definitely the most nerve-wracking part of this whole job, having to balance on these god-awful bridges in platform heels, slightly drunk, trying to ignore the people below. At least the music is good, I think, as I reach column one and go up the few steps to the stage, immediately folding into a twirl.

     I face a guy sitting at the edge, giving him trademark sexy eyes as I widen my stance, slowly circling my hips as I let myself fall further down the pole. I land lightly and roll, fanning my legs. Now on my stomach, I crawl liquidly towards another, slowly laying out flat in front of him, back arched. He sprinkles jenny all over my ass as I bounce it. I wonder about what was wrong with Machi.

     I’m spinning again; looking over the jumping, screaming masses as the beats in the music deepen. The strobe lights flash as I jump up, pulling myself upside down; a leg catches the pole as I rotate backwards, arms stretched back towards the ground in a graceful curve.

    I’m collecting a nice stack of money by the time I’m at center stage. The gambler from before is grinning as I slide towards him to put my legs up in the air and run my hands down my thighs. I climb the pole as the music builds, higher and higher until the people below look like a swarm of multicolored ants. I pause at the top, straining my eyes to see into VIP. As usual, it’s dark and blurred by the rising fog. I notice a few well-dressed men leaning over the railing to watch the crowd; one of them waves at me as if he knows exactly what I’m trying to do. I sigh, take a deep breath, and let myself drop slowly in a perfect corkscrew all the way back down.

     The DJ plays the particular beat that signifies a rotation, and I begin to tightrope my way to the deserted stage four, where surprisingly only two men are sitting side-by-side on a packed Friday night.

     I step up and twirl to face them.

     My gaze falls first on the red-haired one, his sharp yellow eyes looking up over his drink as he sips it. It was something dark with ice cubes, and I notice how pointy his fingernails are, wrapped around the glass.

     I look at the one next to him.

     “You!” I hiss, as I recognize a pair of emotionless black eyes. How did I not see him earlier? Granted, tonight he was in a tan sweater and not a green pin-cushion suit. I turn my back towards the two to dance in the opposite direction, deciding to completely ignore them. However, as soon as I do it, it feels like a very bad idea, and I turn again to put them safely back into my range of vision.

     “Boo… come play with us,” says a bored voice; sharp fingernails holding up a hundred-thousand jenny note and laying it on the stage. I look at him suspiciously.

     “Ah.” says the black-haired one. “I remember you now. Yes, you should definitely come here.”

     I grab onto the pole with both arms and twist my legs around it as an answer, glaring as I open my mouth to fire back some snappy retort.

     However, my mouth closes in confusion as I realize that the creepy oversized eyes are coming closer and closer. Someone is laughing melodiously in the background. I blink repeatedly, as time fast-forwards.

     The marble stage is cold against my back; my arms are above my head, hair draped over the ledge. One of my legs is bent. The other is straight, and I watch the black-haired one tuck a folded up bill in my thigh-high sock with apparent fascination.

     The face directly above mine looks like it wants to eat me, but for some reason I don’t care. Another hundred-thousand jenny bill is being traced up from my navel. I see its limp form in front of me suddenly rustle, and stiffen into a crisp rectangle.

     I feel it travel higher over my throat and then sideways over my jugular.

     “Mm. So pretty…”

     The face above me is licking its lips.

     “Don’t make a mess, Hisoka.” The other man looks disinterested as he sips his drink. “I don’t want to have to clean it up.”

     The mouth above crinkles in annoyance.

     “My, my, someone is grumpy. ”

     The other is now picking at the nails of his long pale fingers. He sighs.

     “I still have 27 to kill before Monday.”

     “You know what they say, Illumi.” says the sing-song voice. “Quality over quantity.”

     The bill is tickling my neck again; yellow eyes turned up dangerously in the corners.

     I watch wisps of fog weave across the black ceiling.

     “Wow, you two are really misbehaving, aren’t you.” Machi is behind them, looking unimpressed.

     The red-haired one leans back in his chair, obviously pleased at the disruption, flipping the stiff jenny between his fingers.

     “This isn’t standard behavior?” The dead-eyed one looks confused.

     “You know better than to try that here.” Machi is staring deadpan at the bill. Her gaze slides to Hisoka’s face. “Your loyalty will come into question.”

     He flips the bill one last time before it disappears in a poof. He spreads an empty hand.

     “A mistake.” he purrs.

     “And you,” she says, facing the other with an even colder expression “should learn the rules before you make enemies that you can’t handle.”

     She's gone in a swirl of cream-colored silk.

     Hisoka chuckles, giving his companion a look of exaggerated mock-fear.

     “Looks like you might make it into the thirties this weekend. Fun fun.”

~

     I blink.

     I blink again.

     The lights are bright white. Someone’s fingers are snapping in between my eyes.

     “Hello!? Anna! Anna! Wake up!”

     I blink.

     Fluorescent lights.

     I blink a few more times.

     I jerk my head back as a huge amount of water splashes into my face, and start violently coughing.

     Machi is standing there with a cup.

     I slowly slide down the wall behind me to the ground, shaking. I’m in the bathroom again.

     “Holy shit. Holy shit.” I whisper.

     “Do you know where you are?” she asks.

     “Yea,” I cough, “obviously…”

     Machi doesn’t look convinced.

     “I’ve been trying to wake you up for five minutes…It was the guy on stage four, wasn’t it,” she says, “the black-haired one?”

     “Yea… what happened?” A drop of blood drips on my wet hand. I watch the red spread into the creases of my palm as it mixes with the water. Machi hands me a paper towel.

     “I didn’t see anything.”

     I look at my face in the mirror as I dry it, moving closer to see a thin red line down my neck. I try to steady my irregular breathing. My head is throbbing, and I wonder how much more of this I can take before my brain scrambles. Machi’s blue eyes, usually ice cold, seem to warm up for a moment. She looks my reflection in the eye.

     “I’ve decided I’m going to help you.”

~


	2. Chapter 2

~     

     I’m holding a cup of steaming tea wrapped in a knit cozy. Machi has refused to tell me how she landed a suite on the 200th floor, answering my questions with what I am starting to realize is characteristic evasiveness. She must know someone high up on the food chain here at Heaven’s Arena; it’s the only explanation. Rooms this high can’t be bought with money, only influence.

     We are sitting on pillows around a low coffee table. The couch behind us is covered with wool blankets in intricate designs. Above that is a window framing the crescent moon. A lot of the things around me appear to be handmade, but to a very high, almost perfectionistic quality. I inspect the careful stitching in a placemat. Machi grabs the tea pot from the center of the table to top up her cup.

     “You know, I’m not a good person” she says finally.

     She is watching her mug as it fills with tea, eyes reflecting the past.

     “The only reason I’m doing this is because you remind me of myself. I was in a similar situation at one point, growing up in Meteor City.” She pauses for a moment, her thoughts far away. “Someone helped me.”

     Both of us watch the steam rising in waves from her cup. I’m quiet, wondering why she’s suddenly choosing to share personal information with me.

     “I don’t think you’re a bad person Machi…” I say softly. “There aren’t good people and bad people. There are just people.”

     She scoffs.

     “You don’t understand. Meteor city is a different world. The filth, the rats- people lose something there. They become worse than animals.” She brings her tea to her lips, blowing lightly to cool it down.

     “Everyone copes with the despair in their own way” she continues, “but the earlier you leave that place, the more of your soul you get to keep.”

     Her icy blue eyes look up from her cup, boring into mine.

     “Could you kill someone, unfeelingly? Enjoy it even?”

     “…I don’t know.” I whisper. “I try not to think about things like that.”

     “You probably shouldn’t. ”

     Her elbows are now resting on the table, and she is watching the empty space between her hands, moving her fingers as though she is knitting something in between them.

     “The people I know from there, they are my soul. They are the only reason I am even helping you right now. The only reason there is a shred of humanity left inside me. And it is a very warped shred.”

     She looks at me intensely over her weirdly contorted fingers, which are now frozen in place.

     “So don’t make the mistake of thinking we are friends. That word doesn’t exist for me.”

     I take a long sip of tea.

     “Why are you telling me this?”

     “I don’t want to feel guilty later when you realize I don’t care.”

     “I’m not asking you to care.”

     “Good. Then we understand each other.”

     She resumes knitting air with her fingers, seeming to relax a bit more into the pillow.

     “…So tell me about these auras you are perceiving.”

~

     The tall spire that is Heaven’s Arena sticks up over the trees. I’m at the nearby park, sitting criss-cross on a bench. I’m supposed to be practicing Ten, but my meditation keeps being interrupted by rising thoughts.

     The wind blows and rustles the leaves of the trees.

     The money is way better when you work in VIP, Machi had said. But the customers are much more particular.

     Of course the strongest fighters of Heaven’s Arena would know something about the world that the rest of us don’t. Nen, the power to burn your life energy and direct it how you will, was the missing puzzle piece, the explanation as to why reality in The Basement didn’t always feel so real.

     I look at my hand, where I know a shroud of white mist is covering it like a glove.

     It would block all emotion-based attacks, she had lectured. The ones mixed with bad intention: blood-lust, anger, manipulation. I feel the energy dancing over my skin, trickling streams of water mixed with licks of flame.

     I shiver and pull my sweater tighter against the autumn chill. A group of small black birds hops along the gravel, pecking at crumbs. Their feathers are a glossy, shiny black. Such a strange color, black, endless and deep. An image flashes in my mind of long dark hair, a sudden uncomfortable reminder of the night previous. The birds forage innocently in front of me as I try to ignore the growing feeling of anxiety in my stomach. The carefully measured aura around me is uneven and dissipating. I wave my arm and the birds take flight.

     My eyes close in concentration as I focus on the sounds around me- a rolling breeze, tiny chirps, far-off laughter of children on the playground. I feel the aura rising off the trees, and count red and yellow leaves as they fly through the air, tiny wisps of nen trailing behind them like comets. My hair flutters softly in the wind as I sit there motionless, legs tucked in, eyes shut. I slowly re-gather the surrounding mist into a perfect shield over my skin.

     “Never lose control.” I whisper.

~

     Fat strippers, thin strippers, the young, the old, the sleazy; in every shade of skin and hair, they traipse throughout the dressing room. A tiny girl with fried blond hair keeps running in and out, tripping over her own feet. Two brunettes in sparkly one-pieces smoke cigarettes as they lounge over the countertop, complaining about a smelly customer. One girl, covered completely in tattoos, is trying to stick on fake eyelashes that have rhinestones at the tips, her mouth hung open in concentration. I myself am spread out in a chair, admiring my freshly painted fingernails as I finish off my second drink. It’s still pretty early in the night, but I have a feeling it’s not going to be a productive evening. The door swings open and I see a familiar shade of cream silk.

     “Machi!” I clap my hands excitedly, and then notice the bags under her eyes. “…did you even sleep?”

     “No.” She begins to furiously rustle around in her locker, objects clanging against the metal. “I’ve been…uh…working.”

     “Oh, another job?”

     “Mmhm,” she says, as she digs through another layer of junk, “and it’s even more questionable than this one.”

     I snort.

     “It must be even more fun then.”

     “Yes, it is.”

     She flashes a rare secretive smile and I know better than to question further.

     I play with the lace on my robe. The tattoo girl whines in annoyance as her eyelash fails to cooperate, and starts attacking it with a pair of tweezers. I let my head hang back and dangle out of the chair as I stare at a blinking florescent light tube on the ceiling. I’m so bored.

     Machi sighs in relief, finally pulling a small brown box out from deep underneath the piles of clothes and makeup. I turn my head to give her an inquisitive look, which she completely ignores as usual. She is halfway out the door when she pauses.

     “Oh yea.” There’s an annoyed grimace on her face. She turns, grabbing the sleeve of my robe to pull me, stumbling, out of my seat and with her into a bathroom stall.

     “I want to see it.” She demands, both of us crammed uncomfortably in the small space.

     “Ten?” I point to the empty champagne glass I’m holding and giggle. “I’m drunk though.”

     “It doesn’t make a difference.” She is busy re-tying her curly pink hair in a higher ponytail.

     “Oooooookay.” I say, gathering more of my aura around me, the technique feeling almost natural after my afternoon of intense practice. I wiggle my wisp-covered fingers in front of Machi and make a stupid face.

     She swats my hands away and motions for me to spin around, her eyes concentrated.

     “It looks good-” she starts, as I lose my balance mid-spin and slam a nen-reinforced hand against the wall. The black tile cracks, shattering into a thousand pieces, sharp stone flying out and littering the floor.  Machi hisses as she shields her brown package with her arms.

     I look at the destroyed wall in disbelief. Machi shakes her head, leaning in again to examine the wisps surrounding me. I grumble about cheap building materials.

     “It’s good” she says finally, “…It’s the right shade of white, smooth texture …quality.”

     She leans back against the tile wall.

     “What I don’t understand is how you got it so fast. It usually takes months to get something that good.”

     We both jump as a voice like sandpaper hollers from the other side of the door.

     “Ya guys doin coke in there?

     Machi and I share a look of what-the-fuck as we imagine the scraggly, pack-a-day hooker next to us. Machi clears her throat.

     “Uh no, of _course_ were not.” She yells sarcastically.

     "Can I have some?” The scratchy voice pleads.

     We’re both quiet. I point to the brown package suggestively. Machi is giving me death looks as the awkward silence draws out longer and longer, my face contorting as I try not laugh.

     A weird snort-cough escapes my mouth.

     The smoker hits the stall, “Stupid bitches!” she screams, heels echoing as she walks away.

     “Goddamn…” I say slowly, eyebrows raised. I try to take a sip of champagne out of my empty glass. “That was an extra crazy one...”

     Machi brushes out a wrinkle in her robe, sighing.

     “It was probably Lola Lawless… “ I giggle. “She gives guys blowjobs in the customer bathroom.”

     “I didn’t need to know that.”

     “I’m sure all kinds of nasty goes on up in VIP too, huh?” I wait eagerly to see if Machi will let something slip.

     She just stares.

     “You know,” she says in a monotone, “I’m tired and I don’t want to have to deal with any more idiots today.”

     I make my best flattered expression.

     Machi turns to open the stall door, little brown parcel tucked under her arm.

     “Have fun with whatever that is!” I call behind her.

     She rolls her eyes.

~ 

     I’m definitely not in a hardworking mood tonight. I’ve been wandering around the club in the robe I forgot to take off, holding my third cocktail, looking more for entertainment than money. Most of the girls are sitting at the bar, a train of long bare legs crossed and uncrossed. Bunny, quiet and raven-haired, is whispering into the ear of the man beside her. Treasure sits on her other side, long pink acrylic nails flying over her cell phone, blue light illuminating her face as she chews her straw. Destiny and Rose are waving around their cigarettes in a coke-fueled discussion. Paper coasters flutter to the ground. Saturday night is just getting started.

     I saunter aimlessly towards the VIP staircase. There’s a lot of commotion going on upstairs; waitresses are shaking out tablecloths as the bartender directs multiple people bringing up crates of expensive wine. The bouncer stands stoically at his post, scanning each person expressionlessly before waving them through. He has the exact build of someone you wouldn’t want to come across in an alleyway, his dark hair and eyes not helping his case. He’s a wolf in a suit, basically.

     “What’s going on up there?” I ask him nonchalantly, sipping my drink.

     He looks over at me and scratches his well-trimmed beard.

     “Important event tonight.”

     He sticks an arm out behind him to stop some opportunist trying to sneak past, and sighs as the guy ducks and starts sprinting up the stairs.

     I cross my arms preemptively as the air around me suddenly drops twenty degrees. The man’s running motion becomes slower and slower until he finally stops halfway up, frozen mid-stride. His eyes roll around wildly in their sockets as he tips over sideways, his body sliding back down the stairs, ice cube like. The bouncer watches the decent, giving the man a well-timed kick to re-direct his glide to the corner, where two other club-goers are twitching as they thaw out.

     “I wanted to ask you something.” I twirl a lock of hair in my finger.

     He stares silently ahead, unblinking. I let my aura flare, and settle back into a tamed flame.

     “Can I work in VIP now?” I say as cutely as possible.

     “No.”

     I sneer, “Well you’re a ray of sunshine as usual. And I mean that as ironically as possible.” I tip my glass back to see that my cocktail has frozen solid.

     “Seriously?” I hiss, poking it with a fingernail. The bouncer stands with both hands clasped in front of him, the side of his mouth turned up in a half-smile.

     “You just really love ruining people’s days, don’t you?”

     I stomp over to the bar.

     “Erik fucked up another one of my drinks.”

     The waitress inspects the frosty glass, turning it upside down and tapping it.

     “You know,” she says, “I think this might be the reason he only drinks straight vodka.”

     “I’m cold and angry now.”I grumble, staring out into the distance.

     “It’s always warmer down in the pit.”

     I shrug, and make my way toward the recessed central area of the club, leaning over the railing to savor my newest concoction. My heavy-lidded eyes scan over the sea of dancers at the beat pounds.

     The music is all-encompassing, tugging at you to become a part of it. Low notes travel down, deep, the ground vibrating. High notes are a shiver. It takes you somewhere else, apart from physical reality. My eyes close, the flashing colors are a distraction. Blackness, the music, and the movement of a thousand souls. Auras like candles flickering as one in the wind. All you know, all you can do, is to go deeper, synchronize.

     I slowly come back to reality, noticing a familiar figure standing a bit apart from the swaying masses. I stand up straighter as my blood rushes, alcohol-fueled fury clouding my ability to think rationally. I squint. Yes, it’s definitely him. My aura flares up as I shape a hand into a claw and march down the stairs.

     “What are you doing here?” I hiss venomously, as soon as I’m in earshot.

     The tall assassin leans against the wall of the pit, his long black hair fanned out behind him. He blinks slowly as I trip over an empty can of beer and frantically regain my balance by windmilling an arm.

     “I am here on business. I see you’ve learned Nen.” He cocks his head slightly to the side. “May I guess…you’re a manipulator?”

     “Maybe.” I confidently take a sip of my drink, “Maybe not.”

     I hide my smile behind my cup as I stare him straight in the eyes.

     “So how does it feel to not control the situation anymore?”

     The black emotionless pits now pose no threat to me, but I’m unnerved when something suddenly flashes in them, his eyes narrowing, like I’ve hit an especially sweet spot in his psyche.

     “I control everything, all the time.” He snaps, crossing his arms. “I could kill you now if I wanted to. I could kill you later.” He gestures with one hand in a lazy sweeping motion, the light catching long fingernails. “Every action is thought out at least ten steps in advance, and is re-calculated several times a minute.”

     I make a face. “That sounds exhausting.”

     “It can be, yes.”

     “Do you ever just give yourself a break and say, ‘Ah, fuck it it’s Saturday, I think I’m only going to think three moves ahead for a couple hours.’”.

     “No. I do not do that.”

     The music rises and falls. Colors move across the assassin’s face, again a blank slate. His gaze travels over groups of partiers hanging over the railing above, their drinks’ straws glowing neon. Underneath the stages is a black mass of dancers, the roaming spotlights highlighting a pink Mohawk, then an oversized tophat, then hands reaching up to graze the metal walkway in some sort of spiritual daze. The columns sparkle as girls twirl. The beat pounds in my veins, warming me from the inside-out. My drink tastes sweeter.

     “So,” I blink heavily, “do you just go around taking advantage of people who don’t know Nen, then?”

     “Yes, generally.”

     “That doesn’t strike you as an, uh, _evil_ thing to do?”

     His eyes stop their searching for a moment, the movement of his head causing a cascade of black hair.

     “What is ‘evil’?” He asks, in genuine confusion.

     I sigh.

     “You really are a lost cause aren’t you?”

     I dangle my now empty plastic cup between two fingers, and let it drop. It rolls around on the floor, joining the other trash.

     “Anyway I know what you were doing before.”

     Silence.

     “You were watching the aura.”

     I motion to the dancers to the left of us, to the origin of the weird feeling that was even now pulling me closer.

     The assassin’s gaze betrays nothing. He resumes his systematic scanning of the crowds above, as if to say that the conversation was over.

     “Do you know what it feels like…when you’re a part of it?” I ask quietly.

     He looks at me sideways, in what could be curiosity or annoyance. His arms are still crossed.

     “C’mon.” I start towards the dense crowd, turning back to see that he’s followed.

     “You’re actually coming?”

     Illumi blinks.

     “Well. It is Saturday…”

     I grin and lead him into the sea. We are now just two faces among a thousand anonymous ones. I weave my way through shadowy figures, every so often seeing a flash of color. A guy with his eyes closed, rings in his eyebrows, a woman in what I swear is a wedding dress, fucked-up strippers hugging each other and jumping up and down. It’s stuffy, and hot, and very very loud. My brain is vibrating in my skull with the bass.

     “There are too many people.” Ilumi is disgusted, twisting to not touch sweaty bodies as we head deeper.

     People are really dancing now. Crazy shuffles and spins, hands in the air. I giggle drunkenly for no apparent reason. My feet are on autopilot, well-accustomed to traversing half-blind in platform heels. Space is opening up as people move around more.

     We finally reach a shady spot tucked against a far column. I take a breath of fresh air, and turn to the assassin.

     “Okay, so, now all you have to do is let go.”

     He looks at me uncomprehending.

     “Like… move a little bit, see,” I wave both arms octopus-like, and then do a sort of repetitive hopping motion.

     “No. I’m not going to do any of that.”

     “Well, you don’t even have to move.” I slur. “You’ve just got to like _feel_ the music.”

     “I cant.”

     The crowd in front of us thins a bit, and I notice a red-haired man dancing by himself, the surrounding people giving him a wide berth. He dances fluidly in the semi-darkness, his movements long and exaggerated as he makes them up, suddenly twirling around on one leg like a ballerina. He energetically jumps around in his interpretive dance; the people around him becoming more and more uncomfortable as they wonder what sort of weird drugs he is on. Suddenly he spots us, and lets out what can only be described as pure bloodlust as he pads over, amber eyes focused on the man next to me.

     “Oh no.” Illumi groans, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the column.

     “Lumi,” the man purrs, “what are you doing down here amongst the common people?”

     The man, dressed in a white two-piece outfit accented by rubber bands, slinks forward catlike until he is very much in the other’s personal space. He slowly extends a spread palm to push Illumi further back against the column. His fingers are sharper than the assassin’s somehow. His face is a perfect mask. He smiles in the darkness, his red hair and pale face at odds with each other.

     Illumi’s eyes are still closed in annoyance; most likely he’s having to do a major recalculation of tonight’s events due to the interruption.

     “Hisoka I don’t have time-” he starts, but the red-haired man interrupts him, tugging his head back by a fistful of hair and exposing his neck to the roaming lights.

     “I’m on a schedule.” The assassin repeats firmly, black eyes narrowing from a tilted head.

     “That’s nice,” says the red-haired one as he pulls again, watching Illumi’s frown turn into a snarl. A flexed hand darts up to pierce Hisoka’s neck, only to be deflected a split-second later.

     “You don’t have to pretend that you’re not happy to see me.” Hisoka sticks his tongue out ever so slightly, and Illumi’s breath hitches. They’re pressed together, the assassin holding himself stiffly. Hisoka runs the tip of his tongue up Illumi’s neck from collarbone to ear.  Illumi breathes out. The music is deep, tickling, black masses jumping up and down as if in slow motion. Eyes are dilated. The ground vibrates, discarded plastic cups rolling around in time. Hisoka pushes his leg between Illumi’s thighs, the assassin’s pupils so large there’s no white. It’s as if something gives as they slowly consume each other; claws, teeth, tongue. The assassin struggles with the onslaught of sensation, shaking.

     “Someone is watching” Illumi breathes.

     Hisoka’s eyes travel sideways. “Mm. Well pin her then. That is, if it bothers you.” He grins behind his companion's neck.

     I’m suddenly aware that I’m standing there watching dumbly. I don’t have time to register another thought before something glitters and strikes between my eyes.

     And I blink.

     Everything is hazy. Illumi’s large eyes are slowly opening and closing in obvious pleasure. He tosses his head to the side. Geometrical shapes are morphing in front of me, squares and triangles and pentagons folding into each other. Someone’s head is on fire, but they do not seem concerned. Am I being tossed around by a wave? The sounds from the speakers come from deep underwater. The two figures in front of me swirl together in strokes of red and black.

     I can’t tell the difference between music and whispers. Around me people bob up and down, the current causing them to turn this way and that in large sweeping motions. I try to make out what they say, but their words are nonsense. All I feel is numb as I stand there in the eye of a massive storm.

     I blink and someone’s hand is at the back of my head, claws digging in. My eyes tear up as I choke. I’m drowning; the ocean is going to take me. I’m indifferent.

     I blink a couple more times. My glazed-over eyes are the focus of two yellow ones. A tongue is in my mouth, doing strange things. He’s staring intently, like waiting for my reaction to the punchline of a joke. Muffled noise in the background becomes clearer. I gasp and jump back, heaving. Sound slaps me in the face, but I’m still woozy and in a sort of in-between place.

     “Delicious.” Hisoka purrs, licking his lips shamelessly as I watch him in growing horror. Then he pirouettes into the crowd.

     I stand there wondering where all the water went, and why I can still taste the ocean.

 

~


	3. Chapter 3

~

     Machi makes her way across the VIP balcony, making sure her steps follow the long oriental rugs that lie over the grated metal. She’s memorized the pattern and doesn’t have to look down. She makes a hard left, and begins to follow a particularly confusing chain of rugs that lead to a private corner. Black velvet chairs are tucked in clusters intermittently between the zigzagging carpets. Men in suits smoke cigars. There’s whispering and faint outlines of a girl giving a dance.

     Here in VIP, stray lights never shine or catch a face. It’s thick with mist, and any harsh colors are dissipated into soft pastels. Great waves of vapor swirl in constant motion, and in doing so, create pockets of privacy. Machi’s theorized that the conjured mist is nen-avoidant, the convenient patchiness occurring where nen users gather. VIP is an ever-changing swiss cheese and a maze to those unfamiliar to it. Clueless customers who leave the trail find themselves wandering, hands outstretched. Some break out into interesting pockets filled with beautiful women, and some end up mystified at the other side of the U-shaped balcony. Of course, the unpredictability is part of the fun for Heaven’s Arena’s top fighters.

     Candelabras line the walkways and emit a soft ball-like glow through the mist. Machi follows her rug as it runs parallel to the railing, her feet disappearing in white. At the very edges of the platform the vapor pools thickly and pours off the sides. The balcony creates a waterfall of cloud that wraps around half the club, framing the poles and the dancers below.

     Scantily clad waitresses pass Machi holding platters of cocktails ice cubes jingling. The music is muffled somewhat as she heads back in, following rugs of smaller and smaller diameter, the mist thickening. As she nears her destination, laughing and yelling and the loud clinking of glasses can be heard.

     The mist opens up into an enclave.

     Uvo is up and apparently demonstrating moves to Nobunga and Feitan. “AND THEN I WENT LIKE THIS!” He roars making a neck wringing motion. Feitan is doing a line of coke off the low table. Nobunga rubs his nose and says “so is _that_ when his head popped off?”

     Uvo grabs a beer and drains it in one gulp, crunching the can and throwing it to the side. “No, no that comes later. He got out of my grip, so I roughed him up a bit.” He throws a couple mock punches complete with sound effects. Feitan looks up and sniffs. “I just want to know how you got his head to pop off.”

     “IF YOU WANT TO KNOW YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO THE WHOLE STORY!”

     Machi fights a smile and rounds the coffee table to take a seat near Dancho. His feet are kicked up and his arm rests on the couch’s side, a glass of red wine dangling in his fingertips. His conjured book is open in his lap. He watches the skeletons of his nen fish as they swim high above in the cloud. They dip in and out, tails swishing mightily.

     Machi starts comparing the labels of different vintages.

     “Won’t they attack?” she asks, as one massive fish nips at the other with sharp jaws.

     “No...” Dancho swirls his wine. “Sometimes they just enjoy a swim.”

     The ethereal fish make rounds around large enclosed space. They curl gracefully in the mist, almost a part of it.

     “Hm.” Machi leans back to settle in with her drink, watching as the fish dance more beautifully than any girl here could ever hope for.

     Across from them, Pakunda is patiently explaining to the second guy that’s wandered over that she is not a stripper and just appreciates a low-cut shirt. Bikinied women come in and out of the mist, some casually striking up conversation. Shizuku and Kortopi are sitting awkwardly next to each other with their hands in their laps, eyes averted. Phinks has approached a particularly pretty stripper and runs a hand through his blond hair. “Ay baby” he says suavely, “what’s your nen type?”

     Machi groans and throws a pillow at him so fast it’s a blur.

     “What?!” he scowls.

     “It’s lines like that that make me want to kill customers.”

     Franklin chuckles, “what do you mean ‘want to’?”

     “True.” Machi sips her drink.

     Shalnark whips his head around. “Where did Hisoka go?”

     Nobunga leans over and grins lazily. “He was jealous he couldn’t dance around naked so he went off to sulk.”

     “He isn’t sulking…” says Machi with distaste. “I saw him dancing around like a maniac when I was downstairs.”

     Franklin picks up a can of beer the size of one of his fingers and holds it like a teacup.

     “It’s not often that he’s doing exactly what you would expect him to do.”

     Shizuku continues munching on a cookie. Dancho stares at the ceiling.

     “By the way…Dancho…” Machi says.

     “Hm?” he looks down.

     “Happy Birthday.” She hands him the brown papered parcel.

     “A present? Why thank you Machi.”

     He carefully unwraps it.

     “Ah, a book, what a surprise.”

     Franklin snorts loudly.

     “Hm..” he turns it over and runs a finger over the old leather. “Is this a first edition of Beyond Good and Evil? This must have been difficult to acquire.”

     “It was worth losing a little sleep.” The sides of Machi’s mouth turn up, but she quickly corrects her expression.

     “My favorite quote from this book…” he flicks through the pages, “let’s see… here. _‘Wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch in dich hinein.‘_  It means… when you look for a long time into an abyss, the abyss also looks back inside you.“ He smiles knowingly.

     Machi’s good spirits suddenly take a nosedive. She takes a long sip of wine, contemplating.

     “Do you ever think that maybe we’re bad?” She whispers to him.

     “Where is this coming from Machi?”

     “I just… sometimes I don’t understand why we do it. Kill people.”

     Dancho exhales and leans back against the couch. “Why do we kill… What a difficult question…”

     “Watch out”, slurs Uvo, “Dancho gets really philosophical when he’s drunk.”

     Uvo downs another beer and then promptly trips over a fold in the rug. Shizuku yelps and grabs the tray of cookies off the table just as he lands with a crash, splitting the wood in two. Bottles of priceless wine shatter. The remaining lines of coke explode into the air in a thick cloud, Uvo sneezing and rubbing his eyes. Feitan jumps on the couch, “UVO YOU IDIOT THAT WAS EVERYTHING!” Nobunga roars with drunken laughter.

     Dancho sighs.

     “Why don’t we go for a walk? This does seem to be the sort of question that you take a walk to.”

     The two begin to follow a rug, drinks in hand. The fish follow above them as they pass globes of muted light.

     “I’ll admit it. I don’t fully understand the answer myself.” Dancho takes a sip of wine. “There is a certain beauty in the moment between life and death. Beauty in the struggle of one against the other. Quietude, as fate runs its course.”

     Machi looks at him inquisitively. He gazes past the mist, into some other world, far away.

     “I like to appreciate the beautiful things.”

     They reach the railing and watch the slow decent of the waterfall as it empties into the pit below.

     “Some say killing is about power. But for me, at least, the darkness is where the answers are. I think that we’re often blinded by the light, and its ability to make the things around us seem real. Actual revelations come by candles. Whispers from books; the feeling of jamming a pen perfectly into someone’s head, and the artistic splatter of blood it leaves behind on the wall.”

     He looks at Machi sideways.

     “You know what I’m talking about right?”

     Machi nods.

     “I’m starting to the think… Beauty, power, truth… They’re all the same.”

     The mist seems to fall even more slowly before hitting the flurry of activity on the main floor.

     “I don’t really understand.” Machi whispers.

     “It’s okay… As the leader of the Phantom Troupe, I will make the world understand,” he smiles and holds up his wine, “through absolute chaos.”

     Machi smiles as well and clinks glasses with the only person she looks up to.

     They look out over the club and Machi feels a sort of peace that she hasn’t felt in a long time. Little specks spread out and converge, so convinced in what they’re doing. The people in the pit dance wildly as the music takes them on a journey through their own minds. The strippers twirl in some sort of contradiction of wanting money and feeling something greater. Life is so vivid from this perspective, Machi reflects.

     Across from them, on the other side of the U shaped balcony, a silhouette appears out of the wall of white. It’s a man, and something is obviously wrong with him, his movements jerky as he climbs up on the railing, both feet planted on the thin metal bar. He stands frozen, eyes wide and vacant, arms spread horizontally from his sides.

     Machi and Chrollo watch the man as he balances Christ-like against the mist.

     His head is a porcupine of metal pins. Each needle distorts his face, causing bulges and concavities in unnatural places. He hangs there in that moment, a black somber figure above the happiness below him. And then he jumps.


End file.
